


Through The Eyes Of The Golden Fountain

by ElenCelebrindal



Series: Quenta Quenelya [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Age, Glorfindel loves Ecthelion too much, Gondolin, I hope at least, M/M, Not Beta Read, Romantic Fluff, Romanticism, Slice of Life, and vice versa, at least it can be considered as such, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29250084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenCelebrindal/pseuds/ElenCelebrindal
Summary: [...]Glorfindel deeply loved the realm he was Lord of, but more than anything he loved its people. The Gondolindrim held a special place in his heart, and he was loved and revered in exchange; everyone smiled, waved, bowed as they saw him, covered in gold armor or dressed in fine robes, but only one of them could proudly say to have stole his soul.He could shout if from rooftop to rooftop, had he showed the desire.The same ellon that, while softly humming a melody, was busy braiding his hair after having greatly insisted to do so.[...]
Relationships: Ecthelion of the Fountain/Glorfindel
Series: Quenta Quenelya [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152818
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Through The Eyes Of The Golden Fountain

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any mistakes you may find, since English is not my native language, and for typing errors I couldn't find in my last read before posting. 
> 
> Also, I want to clarify that I use these « » for dialogues. If you see quotations marks (I don't remember if there's some on here, but better be safe than sorry) it's for thoughts.  
> I tried not to use the guillemets, because they're not commonly used in English, but I normally write in Italian and I'm too used to them to be comfortable with the more common quotation marks. So I apologize for that.

Gondolin was a beautiful city.

White marble and stone, so white and polished it blinded the eye under the Sun and glowed under the Moon, filled to the brim with delicate art, exquisite statues, murmuring fountains and singing gardens. So similar to its great model, the splendid Tirion upon Túna, but at the same time so incredibly different.

Sure, its location was the first difference, but not the biggest. The hidden valley told a story of its own, the dream of a King that was to be sung for endless ages, but the city was different from Tirion in something more intricate, something smaller.  
The Gondolindrim, all the people filled with hopeful desires and protected by impenetrable walls and tall mountains, were the greatest difference between master and student.  
Tirion was made just of Noldor, save for the occasional visitor, the occasional wife of husband, but those dark-haired people who made Gondolin possible didn’t all belong to that same kin. Mingling with them, a reality everyone soon learned to accept back in the days of the Sea, the Sindar dwelled in the city with no less claim over its houses.

Their heads were different, not black like the deep night but maybe a bit lighter, with brown and cinnamon and umber in their hair, and green mixed with wood in their eyes.  
The Noldor were people of marble, of stone, grey ever sparkling in their longing gaze, but the Sindar were people of woods, of alive creatures. All loved the stars, but the people of stone held the Moon to their heart, while the people of wood cared for the Sun.

Only one of those Gondolindrim, save for the King’s daughter, stood like an odd one out.  
And ellon with hair like woven gold, with the shimmering Sun trapped into long locks, flowing free of constriction and beautiful always.  
There was an elleth that was said to have in her hair the light of the Sun and the Moon, silver and gold in beautiful harmony, but he had the honor of having the most fascinating hair of the city.

Glorfindel deeply loved the realm he was Lord of, but more than anything he loved its people. The Gondolindrim held a special place in his heart, and he was loved and revered in exchange; everyone smiled, waved, bowed as they saw him, covered in gold armor or dressed in fine robes, but only _one_ of them could proudly say to have stole his soul.  
He could shout if from rooftop to rooftop, had he showed the desire.  
The same ellon that, while softly humming a melody, was busy braiding his hair after having greatly insisted to do so. His flute, a silvery glow under gold rays, rested silent beside them.

The golden-haired preferred his mane free, maybe only a delicate circlet adorning them with the same shade of gold, but he never was able to say no to Ecthelion. His stern expression paired with the softest smile he could muster was the perfect strategy to make Glorfindel say yes.  
But, admittedly, the soothing sensation of skilled fingers carding through is hair and carefully braiding them was nothing but pleasant.

«I don’t know why you love doing this so much», he said, breaking the silence that up to that point had been interrupted just by Ecthelion’s hummed music. «You never let me do the same for you».

At the pouty remark of his lover, Ecthelion could only smile: «My love, you have no idea how to braid hair», he replied, teasingly, adding yet another golden strand to the complicate hairstyle he was aiming for. «Shall I remind you about the last time you tried?».

Glorfindel could do nothing but huff a laugh: «Remind me? I don’t think Egalmoth will ever let me live that down, he keeps bringing it back up as soon as he has once glass too much», he rolled his eyes, vividly remembering how he was faced with his failure at least five times in a single week. «Poor Duilin had knots in his hair for days».  
After all, Ecthelion’s point was a fair one. The blond elf never cared much about braiding techniques, the best he could do was the simplest three-strands braid only tiny elflings liked to wear. The memory of the distress experienced by their friend – and fellow Lord of Gondolin – was but a harsh reminder of his one incapability.  
Among few others, as a matter of fact, though Ecthelion was prone to tell he had none but only one more.  
By that point, Glorfindel had stopped taking count for a while of how many times his sweet loved told him not to wear his hair so loosely while fighting.  
He had perfect control over them, and besides… well, no one was going to grab them in battle.

With a delighted sigh, he opened his eyes and spare a look for Ecthelion, ever so beautiful even with his head tilted in concentration and the point of his tongue sticking out of his lips. He really _loved_ pampering Glorfindel like that, and looked remarkably cute while doing so.  
Even if the ellon under his hands had the habit of getting rid of the braids not too long after.  
«At least make them less intricate», he found himself saying, grabbing the flute by his side to fidget with it. «You know I’ll untie them».

The dark-haired ellon replied with a shrug, still focused on his task: «There’s no fun in something simple», was the reply. «Besides, I like them even if you don’t. give me my small victory».  
A demand, rather than a quip. The only response he received was a wider smile and a look of pure love lost in those eyes of stone and sky.  
Their conversation ended with that, but Ecthelion was fine with the silence that followed; there had been a time, in younger years, where such silence between them alarmed him, but they spent so much time together that talking wasn’t really necessary anymore. They were comfortable around each other, and that was enough.  
Moreover, the elven lord quite liked the singing of his fountains, water splashing around and composing melodies that changed ever so slightly with every gust of wind. That, with the added chirping of birds, was one of his favorites definitions of bliss.

Maybe, just maybe, they could get married in that very atmosphere. Glorfindel loved the outdoors, and Ecthelion’s love for his crafts was unsurpassed.  
Their betrothal should have happened in Valinor, but the Darknening came so harshly and abrupt they could not make it official. Then it came the Ice, the years spent fighting for their life, huddling together for warmth instead of resting so close for love, it came their allegiance to Turgon, their new role as warriors close to the King.  
The didn’t know if Turgon would approve their betrothal.  
True, they didn’t have family anymore, their parents lost in the ever-cold water under the ice, but they were Lords of Gondolin now.  
And as such, the blessing of the King was not only required, but also a privilege.

Ecthelion wanted to try, talk with Turgon and arrange something for them, but Glorfindel, surprisingly, spoke the voice of reason.  
_“We are not only two Lord of the city, my love, but we also command two of our biggest Houses”_ , he had said, with a sad smile curving his lips and a hand soothingly stroking Ecthelion’s cheek. _“We cannot marry, dearest mine, lest the Gondolindrim think we did such a thing just to gain even more power”_.  
And, as hurtful as it was, Glorfindel spoke only of the truth.  
The Fountain and the Golden Flower were big, powerful Houses. If their Lords married, they would surpass in strength and numbers the House of the King.  
Even if Turgon wanted to bless them, marriage was nothing but an empty hope never to be realized. Not in those dark times of war, no matter the peace lived by the city.

Troubled by those gloomy thoughts, Ecthelion shook his head and resolved not to think about it. They were still a couple, still happy and content with a splendid relationship. Joy seeped into his heart, when Glorfindel’s smile shone bright like the Sun, and that was enough.  
It had to be enough.

The braids needed a good amount of time before Ecthelion finally deemed his work done, an intricate composition he so love on those flowing hair.  
He would never understand why Glorfindel, blessed with such beautiful locks, refused to embellish them with braids and jewels. They were so long, reaching in pure gold waves own to his calves, but he showed no more interest than the exceptional care he had for them.  
Ecthelion’s hair on the opposite, despite long and silky like pure black water pouring from a stream, were significantly shorter, only reaching the middle of his back. As a result, he had a tendency of running how of hair when wanting to experiment some bolder braids.  
Notable the day Ecthelion got so frustrated at the lack of freedom he had with his hair that he grabbed Elemmakil – the closest ellon _and_ friend with long enough hair – and gifted him the particular plaits he wanted to try.  
The poor warrior, who much like Glorfindel never braided his hair, had to endure Ecthelion’s glare for the reminder of the day, and only received a well though-out apology the morning after.

It was positive, however, having strange hobbies. It made life in Gondolin feel less reclusive, it gave the impression of a freedom they weren’t allowed to have anymore. A chance not to think of the marred outside world, of the ongoing war they fled to hide in the mountains.  
Playing his flute, braiding hair, sitting knees deep in questionable water to figure out why the plumbing wasn’t working, it was a good way to ground himself and pretend nothing was happening.  
He had so many responsibilities, so many people to look after, to train, to organize, so many documents and reports, so many orders. Sometimes, it was fine to step away, and get some rest.  
He stopped feeling guilty about it after he nearly collapsed out of fatigue, an Glorfindel had to carry him home from the throne room he almost passed out in. Turgon himself had scolded him for that reckless behavior.  
Thoughtful even in power.

«Don’t fall asleep on me», he nudged Glorfindel with his knee, seeing how his lover was relaxing a bit too much under his ministration. «I’m done, let’s go on a walk before you get annoyed and destroy two hours of work».

In retaliation, Glorfindel raised as arm and smacked Ecthelion square in the face with the back of his hand, finding himself rather amused at the sputtering that followed. He let out a laugh, then promptly got to his feet before his lover could think about throwing him in the near fountain.  
Not that he would have really done that to his beloved fountains, but there were some risks ever Glorfindel wanted not to face. Going back home completely drenched in fountain water was _not_ on his list for the day, though he never made a list in the first place.  
«You should let me find some suitable plants for your new fountains», he told Ecthelion, wrapping his hand on his arm as they left that peaceful corner to stroll around. «You’re planning to build so many, but they need some life!».

Some of the already built ones had beautiful pocket-size gardens adorning them, either around the fountains or in the near vicinity, and vases filled with flowers and plants weren’t scarce; Glorfindel loved those small but meaningful addition, and the King did as well. Galdor, of the Lords, was the most involved in bringing breathing life to the city after Glorfindel himself.  
The blond ellon was fond of the splashes of color and life, and never missed a smile upon finding frogs and newts in those tiny green environments. It was a rare sight, in those walls made of pure white stone.  
Who knew, maybe the critters ended up in the city from the surrounding lads, or some cheeky Ainu put them in fountains and gardens; though, Glorfindel was so used to that kind of thing happening frequently in Valinor that it didn’t occur to him no Ainu would be that naïve for the Elves of Beleriand.

He didn’t give permission to unpleasant thoughts to bring gloom upon him; they were still at peace, for how much they could be in times of war, and no one knew where they dwelled, where the white hidden city was raised.  
That alone was enough of a cheerful knowledge that Glorfindel could simply dismiss everything else for the day, and focused his attention on busy streets and loud vendors.

Every corner was bustling with life, elves busy running errands, guards patrolling with long spears and hand, the rare sight of an elfling was good to break the monotony.  
Glorfindel smiled warmly at the little girl busy creating a flower crown, weaving together dozens of stems, and breathed out a laugh when she blushed; he liked kids, they brought happiness with their games and shrill voices, but they weren’t a common sight for the eyes anymore.  
In Tirion it seemed so easy, couples would be betrothed and married in the blink of an eye, and children were seen a bit more, running and playing without a single worry in the world, but… Beleriand was too harsh of a place.  
Even in Gondolin, so far from the horrors, couple rarely decided to bring children in their desires of marriage. It helped Turgon a great deal, since he wouldn’t have to tire himself while trying to regulate a closed city’s population, but it was a sad awareness.  
Elflings weren’t common, that much was true, but from uncommon to rare the step was immense.  
Couples like Ecthelion and Glorfindel or made by two elf-maidens, with no capability of bearing children, were maybe living a happier life than those who could actually bring kids into the world.

At the end of the day, one could say it wasn’t much of a tragedy, for people were still able to create families, but it wasn’t perfect. Some of those families wanted children, but refused to bring them to life because of the looming threat of the Enemy.

With a sigh, Glorfindel leaned his head on Ecthelion’s shoulder and vaguely gestures towards the market square that opened up beside them: «Do you think I can find some good flowers, even so late? I need to buy some for Idril», he lazily said, eyes to the colorful canopies that brought shade to the stands, and to the goods laid out for people to see.  
Gondolin had its fair share of market squares, as big as it was, big opens spaces were trading could prosper, squares beautified by trees and sculptures and countless plants.  
The real beauty of that particular square resided in the fountain at its center, with water flowing in the square itself using intricate indents to create the splendid image of a shimmering Sun. The bed of those carved rivers – no wider that the palm of a hand – was painted with gold, thus showing the Golden Flower to those who watched from atop.

Ecthelion had build that particular fountain as a gift for Glorfindel’s new role as a Lord, working day after day and refusing to show him any progress until it was done. A blessing, he told him, that he had been made Lord before his lover, so he had enough power to make that fountain reality.  
To that day, Glorfindel never ceased to be baffled by such devotion, though he himself took advantage of the title on his shoulder to dedicate an entire garden to him.  
Subtle to the mind and immediate to the eye, such was the thought process the two elves experienced, and since Turgon never once mentioned them… it meant it had worked.

Entering the square, Ecthelion raised an eyebrow: «Have you done something I wasn’t made aware of, my love?», he asked, suspicious. Glorfindel never bought flowers for Idril, nor for Turgon if that could have helped his case.  
His gifts for the court resided in responsible managing of his people, not in material possessions.  
Unless…  
He turned to look at his lover: «What did you break?».

Glorfindel pouted, caught red-handed in less than an instant. He should have known, Ecthelion could sniff out misdeeds like a hound. So much for his reputation as a refined gentleman.  
«I might have _accidentally_ broken one of her favorite necklaces», the ellon admitted, turning his face as not to look the other in the eye.  
He felt like a kid again, scolded for breaking a porcelain vase in his antics.

«You broke… _how_?».  
Not even Ecthelion, whose imagination was renowned, could understand how such an accident might have happened. Unless Glorfindel was fiddling with said necklace and snapped it in surprise, he had no idea.

«I was in a hurry, she was in a hurry, we crashed into each other in a hallway because we were distracted, and my hair got stuck in the necklace», Glorfindel had to explain, now a fair bit embarrassed. His locks got entangled with the gold chain, and the jewel was so fine it broke before any of them could realize. «Apparently, the pain I’ve endured when her necklace yanked my hair wasn’t enough to make her feel better», he added.  
At least, Glorfindel had though with relief, he didn’t break a jewel that belonged to her mother. Even if mendable, a mistake like that could have upset Idril to no end, and Turgon in tow. _That_ would have been horrible.

As soon as he heard Ecthelion starting to laugh at his misadventures, he elbowed him in the ribs and made sure to approach a stand before he stopped wincing. It was the small victories ,after all.

The small stand was overflowing with flowers, neatly placed in wooden crates and ceramic pots, with more colors bleeding on the ground in ever more boxes. The sweet fragrance coming from the shelf was almost overwhelming, but not unwelcome.  
The ellon behind it smiled and them and slightly bowed his head as a demonstration of respect, while Glorfindel examined the flowers.  
He didn’t really know what Idril’s preferences in flowers were, but he was aware of how she disliked bold colors, settling on lighter shades to weave in her clothes and have all around. More than anything, Glorfindel knew she hated red, as it reminded her of the blood she’d seen on the Ice, when people would fall either prey of the cold or the sharp traitorous ice that could pierce through clothes and skin of those who were not careful.  
How many Glorfindel had seen, walking with blood trails behind them, because pointed ice made its way through not sturdy enough boots. No one bled long, for the cold was too intense, but Idril had a good memory.

He decided against red and pink, though powder pink flowers could have made a beautiful bouquet, and ended up choosing pale blue and soft lilac. He wondered if he should add some white in the mix, but again the memory of the snow paired with too many blue garments lost in icy water made him think again.  
Idril was strong, incredibly so, but she was simply a child on the Ice. Her mind was far from those days, but memory and dreams could be deceiving. As small as the chance was, it was better not to rouse such memories with a gift.  
It was enough to have white all around her, she didn’t need yet another reminder.

Ecthelion, quietly helping in his endeavor, didn’t intrude his thoughts but merely pointed out some good choices. He, after all, spent more time in Turgon’s company that Glorfindel, and subsequently more time with Idril as well.  
After some more time spent musing over his choices, for the colors were not the only problem, and following the ellon’s suggestions, he finally had an armful of flowers and a bit less coins in his pockets.

«I’m quite disappointed Idril doesn’t appreciate sunflowers», Glorfindel pursed his lips, once they sat down on a bench to drink in the breathtaking view of the sunset. That square was one of the few places where it was possible to gaze upon the Sun setting to give space to the Moon, not hidden by tall buildings and elevated enough that the view wasn’t hindered by the tall city walls.  
Another good reason why Ecthelion chose that exact square to have the Golden Fountain in, undoubtedly.

Ecthelion breathed out a soft laugh and shook his head; Glorfindel was enamored by those flowers, big and brightly colored, always facing the sun, but it didn’t come as a surprise. His lover harnessed the light of the sun, after all, as well as its energy. It was no wonder he loved so dearly those flowers that always sought out the sun in their life.  
Silly as it was, he knew without a doubt that Glorfindel would have gladly chosen a sunflower as the coat of arms of his House, hadn’t ne needed something more solemn. He might have sworn his sword to Turgon, but Glorfindel wasn’t born to be a fighter.  
Back in their old days, in Valinor, he was nothing but a gardener, always busy with a shovel in hand and seeds in the other. Noble at heart, but so close to the very essence of nature, willing to kneel in the dirt just for some beauty.  
Such a shame it was, that those hands once covered in mud had to be covered in blood.

Though, rather than reminding him that, he smiled and gently shoved his loved: «You cannot expect a lady as refined as Idril to like sunflowers», he said, playful. «If only because Turgon would then have in his palace the constant reminded that you exist».

The golden-haired raised a hand to his chest in a dramatic gesture of outrage and shock, and accordingly opened his mouth: «Let down by my own lover», he lamented, moving the same hand even higher, so the back was now resting on his forehead: «What a slander! Offended by my dearest! How could my heart survive such an affront!».

And he would have kept going with his lamentation, hadn’t Ecthelion snatched him from his theatrical behavior by leaving a quick kiss on his lips.  
Thus, as much as Glorfindel wanted to pester his lover a bit more, he decided it was a good compromise and closed his mouth, his gaze now unsure whether to focus on the Moon rising in the sky, or the moon shining at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Some clarifications, of you're interested 
> 
> The story is set no long after the construction of Gondolin, before tragedies started striking Gondolin. They deserve a bit of happiness, I believe.
> 
> The necklace thing, as impossible may sound, actually happened to me. The hair were mine, and it hurt a whole lot. I don’t envy Glorfindel for going through the same. 
> 
> Regarding the weird bit with the flowers, I just like symbolism. As further explanation, let me tell you that Idril’s rooms in the palace are probably the only place of the entire building without a single sliver of white in sight. This, to me (and here I am again with symbolic stuff), gives a lot more meaning to the fact she’s going to be married to the Lord of the White Wing, because white at that point in her life doesn’t mean bad memories anymore. 
> 
> Glorfindel has some Vanyarin blood thanks to his family (his mother was a Noldo, his father a Vanya); as such, he has blond hair and grey-azure eyes. 
> 
> [this a bit of a larger explanation of how I see hair and eye color]  
> For eyes and hair I follow a mix of canon and not-canon: Noldor with grey eyes and black hair (with the obvious rarity of red and silver); Sindar with brown to green eyes and brown hair (sometimes blonde, thought it’s rare); Teleri with pale blue of pale grey eyes and silver or white hair; Vanyar with blue eyes and blonde hair. All of these colors obviously include all the relative shades, though I do have some strong headcanons for the main families (i.e. Fëanor has pure black hair, while Caranthir’s are less “pigmented”, I am that meticulous sometimes).  
> When different kin mingle, hair and eye color can get mixed up, but if they are “pure” (pass me the awful term) it’s extremely rare, if not unique, for this to happen.  
> Also, I know Sindar Elves are of Telerin descend, but I tend to see them as an almost completely separate kin thanks to the differences I gave them. 
> 
> If you want to leave kudos or comment, please feel free to do so! They're a huge confidence boost, and I'll know you liked this!


End file.
